The Art of Plan B

Friday, March 8, 2013

The dimmer in the lights over my dining room table blew, so I hired an electrician to come to the house. He rang the bell at the precise moment when I had just taken off my work clothes and was standing ass naked in my bedroom. Yes, I really did answer the door in my bathrobe.

His name was Brian and he was about my age and had beautiful blue eyes. Despite my outfit, he didn't seem to think I was crazy (bonus points).

My 3-year old daughter followed me down the stairs and started in with her line of questioning.

"Are you Brian?"
"Yes."
"Where did you come from?"
"Outside."
"Why?"
"I came to fix your lights."
"Are they broken?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"I'm trying to figure that out."
"Do you have a penis?"

I heard myself choke. I tried to dodge.

"Sweetie, do you want to play with your blocks?"
"Do you have a penis?"
"Sweetie, that is a private question."
"Does he have a penis?"

Okay, there is no dodging.

"Well, he is a boy, so most likely he does have a penis,"Did I just say that? "but that is a private question and not something we say in public."
"Can I see it?"

I may have an aneurysm. The electrician is holding back a smirk and examining my transformer. Wait a minute - why does that sound dirty?
"No, you may not see it. And we don't ask that."
I try to explain, "I'm sorry. We just read a book about 'Who has what'."

He was gracious, explaining that he has two small daughters and has already heard everything. But somehow I don't think he'd heard this one. He also explained that he is a single father and takes his girls shopping for clothes and recently had to deal with the bra scene, which embarrassed him to death.

Hmm. I'm meeting a nice, single father who has a good sense of humor and can fix my lights. Is my daughter my wingman? And if so, can we please postpone a viewing of the package?

I hate women who go out with men to get a free meal and I am not one of those women. However, I've got a gripe with men who are cheap --- and I've met more than my share lately.

I recently went out with a guy who was driving over an hour to meet me and I offered, up front, to buy him an overpriced drink at a swanky bar. Little did I know that he would order a scotch that was $20 for what amounted to 4 Tablespoons worth of alcohol, but hey - a deal is a deal and I was happy to pick up the tab.

We met again for a lunch date a week later and had pizza. I kid you not, the tab was $11. When the bill came he said, "What should we do about the bill?". Can you imagine ??? He ended up putting it on his credit card only because he didn't have enough cash to pay for half. And this was a date that was going well! Unacceptable. Meanwhile, I was paying $10/hour for a babysitter. Wow.

A year ago a guy asked me out for a drink and we met at a Mexican restaurant and each had one drink. At his insistence, we also split an appetizer (I would much rather have just a drink on date #1). When the bill came he was visibly uncomfortable and said something like, "I can pay the bill if you'd like me to." Are you serious? and so we split the bill. Really nice guy, really low class move.

Equally as bad are men who say things like, "I'll be the nice guy and get the bill here" (last summer) or "I'll take the hit on this one" (2 weeks ago). Whatever happened to, "Please, it would be my pleasure"????

Men, if you can't afford to pay for one drink, one appetizer, or an $11 pizza, here is the bottom line --- don't ask the girl out. Period. Because you truly can't afford to look this cheap. It's rude, it's low class and frankly, its just not acceptable.

I'm exhausted from outlining my management style, showcasing my program achievements and pretending that I have a 5-year, 10-year and 15-year vision, other than escaping to a beach in Hawaii where I can throw both my cell phone and my laptop into a tidal pool.

Enough. I've had it. Dear Lord, all I want for Christmas is to stop dating.

Monday, November 26, 2012

Sometimes I feel like all of the good lessons have already been taught, and that I just hear the same regurgitated lesson again and again (not that I always learn it). Not so at dinner a few weeks ago.

A friend of mine has a friend from home who married an old friend of mine from college. Friend coincidence. We all got together for dinner to catch up on the past 20 years of our lives in 90 minutes or less.

My old college friend, Darcy, was ready to take the marine biology world by storm the last time I saw her, when the first Bush was President. She was excited, invigorated, well-educated and energetic - nothing would stop her. But then she got married, had children, and made the active decision to stay at home with her children. I'm sure she is a great mom and it sounds like she has great kids. But I was surprised to see that the life had been sucked out of her a bit --- she didn't sound very cheery about marriage, being a stay-at-home mom, and the June Cleaver lifestyle. I mentioned that the good ole dating world ain't so rosy either, and that it certainly wasn't easy to make the decision to parent a child alone. And then she told me this story:

Her teenage daughter's biology teacher was telling Darby about a class project and Darby mentioned that she is a marine biologist and would love to help out. The next day Darby's daughter came home and said, "Mom, I am so embarrassed. Mr. Beason asked me if you could give him some plankton from your lab. He thought you were really somebody." Darby turned to me and said, "Your daughter will never wonder if her mom is really somebody."

This comment hit me in the gut. I've never once considered if my daughter would think I'm competent, important or 'really somebody' --- most likely because I've never questioned this about my mother, grandmother or great-grandmother (all professional women). I, of course, reminded Darby that being a stay-at-home mom is being somebody. To which she replied, "You and I know that, and she'll know it someday. But today this really hurts."

Sunday, July 1, 2012

Most single sexually active adults have not only a wide array of 'bad date' stories, but also HPV. HPV is that fun virus that causes women to have bad pap smears, multiple pap smears, decidedly unpleasant gynecological procedures and, yes, cervical cancer. It is now known to cause head and neck cancers as well (and you thought oral sex was safe, silly you) and affects both men and women. Oh, and more good news, condoms don't prevent HPV transmission.
I had been lucky enough to dodge the bullet on HPV until my last pap smear. It was then that I learned that I'd likely joined the masses and was invited back in for 'further testing'. Several months later I was cleared and breathed a deep sigh of relief. And then I decided to get the Gardasil vaccine series. Granted, it does not protect against all forms of HPV, but offers some protection against some of the nastiest strains. Sounds good to me.

I marched into my large health plan and was directed toward the vaccination office. The receptionist took one look at me when I said I wanted the Gardasil vaccine and said,
"You're here for what?"
"Gardasil. Its the HPV vaccine."
"You want this for yourself?", she asked, looking around for my teenage daughter.
"Yes, its for me."
"Okay then, please have a seat under the Miley Cyrus poster."

Ah ha, I'm not the usual Gardasil demographic. I get it.

I bravely sat through the shot and praised myself when the nurse said I'd been brave and asked how I was doing in Algebra (I told her I got an A - hey, its the truth. She didn't ask when.) She explained that the vaccine comes in three doses, spread out over several months, and that they've had trouble with girls coming back for all three.

I've now had 2 of the three, and was promised a Justin Bieber t-shirt after the third.

Most Jewish girls don't take dating advice from JC, but I do. "Don't hide your light under a bushel." Somehow I doubt JC meant this as one of 'The Rules', but I'm adding it to my version (and deleting all of the others by the plastic surgery twins).
Last night I had dinner with a single friend of mine who is attractive, well-educated, kind and an all-around great person. To my horror, she shared with me that she had been advised by some of her 'friends' that she is single because she is too honest with men too early on about herself. More specifically, that she is Ivy-league educated, has a good job and owns her own home. She doesn't flaunt these details - in fact, she is one of the most modest people I know - but also doesn't lie about them when asked questions like, 'Where did you go to college?'. Her advisees instructed that the next time she should answer, "A small school in New England" rather than the truth, which is Yale.

Are you fkg kidding me ????????????

I went on a date two weeks ago with a guy from my town, who was decent looking, gainfully employed and even in my age range. To top it off, he was also Jewish-lite and we had lived in many of the same cities. The first date went quite well and he asked me out again within 48 hours. What could be better, right?
On the second date we somehow got on the subject of sports and whether we'd played them in high school (who cares?). He had not been athletic, and admitted that one of his brothers was a jock and the other a cool guy. I watched this 45-year old man travel backwards in time to the 'nerdy smart kid' from 1985 who felt inferior to his older brothers. He asked me if I played sports and I said yes, I was was on the swim team and was a cheerleader. The moment those words floated out of my mouth I realized that I'd just shattered his ego. He then asked me some questions about my job and my home (I'm more senior and have a nicer home than he does) and I realized there wouldn't be a third date. Really???

Maybe my friend's advisees are correct --- maybe I should have told this guy that I was the unpopular girl in high school who stayed home on prom night. Maybe I should have told him that I work at the local supermarket and live in my parents' basement apartment. Maybe then he would feel less intimidated and we could have gone out on a 3rd date. No thanks. I'm done hiding my light under a bushel and I think that's what Jesus would do.

Tuesday, May 29, 2012

Luke left 2 weeks ago for a job in the mid-west. We laughed, we cried, we laughed some more. We had some really good times and some very good sex. From the beginning of the relationship we knew that it would most likely be short-term, and it was. Now he is gone and it is unlikely that we will see each other again anytime soon. And I'm okay with that.
This is the first time I've ever had a defined relationship of short duration with a known expiration date. Neither of us could change that date and the date was not due to a fault on either end. There was no bad guy. When he did something I found irritating or unacceptable, I found myself thinking, "Well, its only for 3 more weeks anyway." Its hardly worth a major confrontation if its ending in 3 weeks, now is it? I never had to give much thought to whether this could really work long-term, because the term was short. And because the term was short, I felt free to really get to know him without worrying if he was getting too attached, if I was, if I really thought there was potential, if he was 'relationship' material, if I could live with his baggage, if he could live with mine --- I must tell you, the short-term contract was really freeing.